


Never Too Late

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Confessions, Light Angst, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The CIA wants Napoleon back. So it's only natural for him to confess everything to Illya before he leaves UNCLE because he might not see the Russian again, or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Too Late

“Why do we admit to something only when we know time is running out on us?”

Illya watches as Napoleon stays frozen on the floor opposite off him, his arms wrapped around his bent legs pressed up against his chest, his blue eyes locked with his. 

“Is always easier to confess when there is nothing else to lose,” Illya replies, sounding grim but hopeful at the same time. But his answer is honest enough and Napoleon would not have it any other way. He looks ruefully at Illya.

“Just because the CIA wants me back and that tonight might probably be my last night here with UNCLE that I’ve finally found the courage to confess everything to you.”

He is hoping his words would make Illya smile and is a little surprised when Illya’s lips curled up just as Napoleon had hoped. 

“You figure everything out too late, Cowboy,” Illya says. The Russian pats the empty space on the bed beside him, gestures for Napoleon to come over. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Napoleon asks. Illya only sighs at that and crosses the room instead to sit beside his partner. Their shoulders brushed against each other as Illya slides onto the floor next to him. 

“Waverly should have said no to CIA. Tell them you belong to UNCLE,” he starts, _tell them you belong to me_ , Illya wants to say as he tentatively takes Napoleon’s hand in his. He stares at their entwined fingers for a moment and then at Napoleon. His heart aches but he doesn’t want to show it too much, although he has an inkling that perhaps Napoleon already knows this. He clenches his jaw hard.

“It’s a shame he didn’t tell them.”

“Well, it’s a damn shame indeed.”

“I think Waverly did not try hard enough.”

“Illya—”

Both men stay quiet after that, not really knowing what to say to the other. When the tension seems to have subsided a little, Illya brings Napoleon’s fingers up against his lips and kisses them tenderly. 

“I kept thinking I would say something, should have said something to you before and you would know.”

“Well, I’m a fool, Peril. I should have said something to you too but in the end, even if I had, it’ll still come to this and it would have hurt us twice as much, don’t you think?”

Illya knows perfectly well Napoleon is right but knowing their platonic friendship have evolved into something deeper, something that makes Illya’s heart flutter every time he looks at Napoleon, only for them to come to terms with it now, leaves something to be desired for Illya. There is so much that Napoleon _needs_ to know, that Illya has failed to say to him. He tightens his grip on Napoleon’s hand.

“Confess something to me, Cowboy, something you’ve never told me before.”

“You need to know more? 'I kind of have feelings for you' I'd admitted earlier is not enough?”

“Yes, is not enough. Tell me something else,” Illya confides. 

Napoleon dips his head down to look into Illya’s eyes, a little grin playing at the corner of his lips. “You sure you want to hear this? Because you might not like all of it.”

Illya simply shrugs as if he’s prepared to take in anything Napoleon has to give him. “Try me.”

“Well all right, first of all,” Napoleon says, clears his throat as he turns his body to face Illya, “I know I’d said that I hated you wearing that flat hat of yours. And that you should get rid of it. But truthfully, I think you look absolutely adorable in it. And every time you take it off, I just want to reach out and ruffle your flattened hair.”

Napoleon then goes ahead and do just like he had said, lifts his hand to take Illya’s hat off, runs his fingers through his hair before ruffling it slightly and Illya rolls his eyes at the American, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. He swats Napoleon’s hand away and quickly smooths his hair making Napoleon chuckle. 

“The second thing you should know, I always thought you and Gaby were going to end up together. You’re always dancing around each other, so you know, that’s one of the reasons why I never said anything to you.”

Illya shakes his head. “You are a fool, Cowboy. Me and Gaby were never—”

“I know now,” Napoleon cuts Illya off before he could finish his sentence, decides to cut to the chase.

“Thirdly,” he adds as he takes both of Illya’s hands in his, “You’ve absolutely gorgeous hands, Peril. The things I want you to do to me with these hands—“

Illya gulps a little as Napoleon stops mid sentence, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“I guess,” Illya mutters. He tries to shake off the nasty thought that had entered his head. “What else, Cowboy?”

Growing in confidence, Napoleon straight up admits the one thing he has been dying to tell Illya.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss you. Yeah, let’s just say my number four is I’ve always wanted to kiss you, Peril, and I figure this is my best chance to confess without me getting a punch in return for my effort.”

“You want to kiss me?” Illya says, his dumbfounded voice a little too much for Napoleon to handle at the moment. 

“Well I’ve already pretty much confessed to everything else, and since I have feelings for you, saying I want to kiss you is only natural, don’t you think?”

Illya snorts. “I guess so.”

Suddenly words have died from Napoleon’s lips and he is simply staring at Illya with longing in his eyes. He starts to put one hand on Illya’s arm and looks at him, his delinquent blue eyes suggesting something and then he smiles, that heart-stopping smile of his, the one that always make Illya dizzy, and the Russian loses his breath. 

“Do you not care if we do not see each other again after this?”

There is like heartbreak in Illya’s voice. Of course, Napoleon cares, he cares too damn much.

“I do care, Illya, but we can’t do anything about it, can we?”

“Napoleon,” Illya says, his name on his lips sounds strangely beautiful, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. “This is not goodbye. I can’t—I’ll talk to Waverly again, I’ll ask him to change his decision.”

“Illya,” Napoleon says, trying not to lose his mind as Illya’s fingers move in his hair, pulling him closer. Every being in his body is screaming, he doesn’t want to lose this now he has found it. He cannot. He slides a shaky hand under Illya’s jacket, wraps an arm around him. 

“At least, I’ve confessed everything to you. I’ve got no more secrets for you, Peril.”

Napoleon leans up and kisses him hard, kisses that mouth of his, hot and insistent, his body sliding against Illya’s and he holds on as Illya starts to unbutton his shirt. “What about you, is there anything you want to tell me?” he murmurs, his breath hitching in his throat at Illya’s act. “Tell me anything you want, Peril.”

“I think I fell in love with you when you returned my father’s watch, Cowboy.”

Napoleon sucks in his breath hearing that. For all of his confessions, he never mentioned the word love, because he was too scared of what it might mean, of the complications, of what they might become, but Illya had said it with ardour, without pretence and it is making Napoleon fall apart. 

“You did?” 

“No, wait. Perhaps even before that—I do not know, but, but what you did was selfless and I just, wait—what is wrong with your shirt?” Illya is still trying to unbutton Napoleon’s shirt, his fingers shaking and he grumbles and grits his teeth at his inability to do so. Despite the shock of Illya’s earlier confession still wreaking his head, Napoleon only laughs. “Let me do it, Peril. But hey, keep talking, please?”

After managing to undo the buttons, Napoleon pulls his shirt off and then gasps when Illya attacks his chest. He leans back against the wall as Illya straddles him. 

“You drive me crazy all the time, Cowboy. Your mouth is sinful, I just want to kiss your mouth every time you talk. Just to shut you up.”

“Good Lord,” Napoleon moans. Illya is kissing him on his neck and then he bites him softly where he had kissed him, and Napoleon catches his breath. “More?” he whispers.

Instead of saying anything, Illya bites him harder and Napoleon is trembling under him, digging his fingers into the Russian’s still clothed shoulder. “Take your clothes off, Illya. I want you now.”

Illya looks down at Napoleon’s messed up hair and his dishevelled state on the floor and can’t quite believe he had hidden his feelings for this man before him all this time. He leans down and kisses his bare shoulder, trails his fingers down his chest. 

“So many things I want to say, Cowboy, but, I only remember the thing that matters.”

“What is that?” Napoleon murmurs, slinking further down on the floor with Illya’s body on top of his. 

“That you’ve completely ruined me.”

He runs his hand on Napoleon’s bare stomach, and the American finds himself lost in the conversation once again. 

“So what are you going to do to me, Peril?” he manages to say after much difficulty, searching desperately for something from Illya. Illya only kisses him, as his hands slide lower, lower still and then he mutters, “We should really move to the bed, Cowboy.”

And Napoleon could not say no that and only nods.

 

***

 

Illya closes his eyes, feeling Napoleon’s body under his, his hands on his hips, wanting all of Napoleon.

“I’m going to miss you,” he croaks against the juncture of Napoleon’s neck and shoulder, bites him there. “How can I live without this, without _you_ , Cowboy?”

Napoleon arches his neck. There are actual tears in his eyes, but he blinks it away. “Do we have to talk about that now?”

“I’m just saying—” Illya runs his tongue along the beautiful line of his partner’s collarbone and lets one hand stray south, strokes him hard until Napoleon catches his hand in his. 

“You keep doing that and it’ll be over too soon,” he warns, breathless. But Illya catches his lips, steals the words from his mouth. “If it’s over we can start all over again.”

Napoleon shudders at Illya’s words, wonders if he will survive the night. But his thoughts are immediately cut off when Illya’s talented finger slips inside him and he cries out, throws his head back. “Oh fuck, Illya.”

“Listen to me, Cowboy,” Illya says as he strokes his finger, adds in more into Napoleon, rocking him in rhythm with his hand. “I love you.”

Napoleon arches up to meet Illya and whenever the Russian finds that bundle of nerve and strokes it delightfully, Napoleon cries out and clenches around him, biting his shoulder while Illya holds him down and drives his fingers in and out over and over until the heat rolls over Napoleon and he shudders with it, frantically catching Illya’s shoulders, grasping it hard. 

“Oh God, don’t—don’t stop.”

He moves with Illya, feeling the pressure build, rolling and arching underneath him. “I’ve been wrong, for not telling you this—sooner. So wrong.”

“Stop talking, Cowboy,” Illya hisses, pressing harder, making Napoleon gasp. And then he smiles down at him, his eyes hot and his face flushed and then a particularly hard thrust of his hand and then Napoleon comes all over his stomach and his chest and then the cycle repeats for them, again and again, all through the night. 

 

***

 

“I will tell Waverly not to let you go.”

Illya rolls on top of Napoleon, to trap him underneath and Napoleon could only sigh as he reaches up to hold Illya’s face between his hands. He had taken everything Illya could offer him that night, had clutched at him, let him consume and devour him over and over again and now, as he looks at his face, Napoleon doesn’t know how he could ever let go of the Russian. Perhaps Illya is right. Perhaps he should beg Waverly into letting him stay with UNCLE. Yes, begging certainly seems like a good option.

“I want to do that again with you, never want to stop doing that with you,” Napoleon says when he could think again, although he wonders if his words are actually making sense to Illya. When he sees him nodding, Napoleon supposes he had made sense after all. “But there is always a chance that we can’t ever, again. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Since when have you become a pessimist?” Illya asks.

“I don’t know,” Napoleon answers then raises an eyebrow at Illya. “And since when have you become such an optimist?”

Illya holds him tighter, leans in and kisses him hard. “Since you told me all those things I needed to know.”

“And what happens if I still have to leave?”

“I will think of something.”

For the first time in his life, Napoleon is actually scared, scared of losing someone he never thought he would ever have in his life. Illya. But his confidence gives him some semblance of hope and he feels something give way inside of him. 

_I love you_ , he thinks as he kisses Illya, still too scared to say the words out loud, fearing he will lose him tomorrow and it is something Napoleon would not be able to handle.

 

***

 

“I don’t understand. How did UNCLE manage to do it?”

Napoleon’s voice is dry as Waverly breaks the news to him the next day. He leans heavily in his chair, not quite believing what he is hearing. His superior’s eyes are dancing, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes more evident than ever. 

“We have our ways,” he says, clearly impressed and proud with himself. “Don’t ask us how, but we have our ways, Solo.”

Napoleon hums, still worried if Waverly is hiding details from him that he should know of. “And the CIA, they are fine with it?”

Waverly nods, a little exasperated at Napoleon’s scepticism. “Yes, yes they are, now quit worrying, will you? You’re still an UNCLE agent. Will always be, from now on. I’ve made sure of that.”

When he is fully certain Waverly has told him everything he needs to know, Napoleon wants to get up and jump on his feet, wants to pull Waverly into a fierce hug, wants to do all sorts of crazy things, but all he could do at that moment is think about what Illya had said the night earlier and then…

“Sir, did Kuryakin come and talk to you about this?”

“Yes, he might have, let me know exactly what he thinks if you were to leave UNCLE, destroyed a couple of priceless things in my office before I could stop him, but mind you, that’s about all he’d done to ensure you don’t have to leave the organisation.”

Napoleon wants to laugh. Of course, Illya would do that. He knows now why the walls behind Waverly are bare. Those paintings are priceless indeed. Before Waverly could say anything else, Napoleon quickly springs to his feet, thanks him and shakes his hand before running out of his office, almost sprints down the hallway and when he reaches the small office he shares with Illya, he yanks the door open to see Illya smiling up at him. 

“Cowboy?”

 _I love you_ , Napoleon says, the only thing he could say, this time out loud, before he closes the door firmly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone for always leaving kudos and I'd love your comments. :)


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